Growing up in Harlan County gave her a shared history with Deputy U.S. Marshal Raylan Givens. A history that made the two Kentucky natives cynical to the outside world.
However, after meeting former Army Ranger, Tim Gutterson, Jolene 'Jo' Taylor's p...
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Tim Gutterson was having a shitty day. It wasn't like anything had gone particularly wrong, but he'd been stuck on prisoner transport duty, and that alone made for a shitty day.
He needed a drink, that was the first thing he'd decided after officially getting off the clock. Thankfully, there was a dive nearby that he liked to frequent. It wasn't too close to the courthouse to risk running into coworkers, but not too far away from his place that he couldn't make it home should he find himself inebriated, as was often the case.
After venturing out into the parking lot and hopping into his SUV, he headed there as though on autopilot.
The bar was mostly empty except for a few regulars. Made sense, it was still early evening after all. Allowing himself to slid up to the counter with ease, seating himself with back facing the wall and eyes that could remain watchful on the door.
In his inimitable scan of the vicinity, he'd recognized a somewhat familiar face occupying a barstool no more than three down from his own.
Tim never spoken to her, but they'd seen each other around the courthouse on more than one occasion. Even shared an elevator ride once or twice. He hadn't caught her name either, but was reasonably sure she was a lawyer of some sort. At least, that's what her irregular hours and sharp pantsuits, like the kind she donned today, led him to believe.
Law enforcement and lawyers weren't much fans of each other, and so, despite her attractive figure and doe eyes, he'd never attempted to chat her in passing.
That changed around his fourth tumbler of whiskey; only it wasn't Tim who initiated contact.
"You a sniper?" She asked flatly, without so much as a glance in his direction. And, had there been anyone else at the bar top, he still would've known she was speaking to him. His tattoo, a rifle encased by a scope, was prominently displayed due to his rolled up shirt sleeves.
"Something like that," he replied, also not chancing a glance towards her as they spoke.
"Well, thank you for your service," she said before taking another sip from her glass. She didn't have to inquire about his military history; she'd known enough servicemen in her time to recognize one from the manner in which they carried themselves.
Her statement of gratitude had been delivered so dryly, that for a moment, Tim had to wonder if she was being sarcastic. He didn't have much time to dwell on it though, because she was out of her seat, drink in hand, striding over to him with a casual grace couldn't be taught.
The stool next to his scrapped against dirty linoleum as it was pulled out, the unknown woman making herself comfortable before turning towards him. "Jo Taylor," she introduced while offering her right hand.
Taking it in his own, Tim gave a firm shake out of courtesy. "Tim Gutterson."
He thought she'd try and strike up a conversation after their pleasantries, but an easy silence fell between the two instead.
Jo had recognized him the second he'd taken a seat at the bar. She'd be lying if she said he hadn't caught her eye during several comings and goings at the courthouse.
He was obviously a composed man, one who didn't mince words unless required. God, was the strong and silent type attractive. Didn't hurt that he filled out a button down and slacks nicely either.
It could have lingered longer, the stillness between them, but Tim was first to break the unassuming quiet surrounding them. "You a lawyer or something?"
She let out a chuckle from behind her drink. "Defense attorney, actually," she corrected after placing her glass back down on the counter. "Pretty sure that means you're consorting with the enemy."
"Only if you're helping the bad guys," he retorted.
"Exclusively the bad guys," she answered with a smirk, then turned fully in her chair to appraise him.
Her penetrating gaze would've unsettled a weaker man, but Tim returned her scrutinizing stare with one of his own.
They were carefully challenging one another, seeing who would make the next move.
Jo was the one to yield on this occasion. "You wanna get out of here?"
He gave a only sharp nod prior to draining the drink in front of him and slapping a few twenties down on the counter, enough to cover both their tabs.
Then, he walked off towards the exit without so much as an indicator to her, but Jo followed after him willingly, abandoning her half finished tumbler on the counter.
The duo ended up at her place due to sheer proximity; they hadn't exchanged any further words since leaving the bar.
As she ushered Tim into her home, the first thing he noted was that there were no pictures on the walls. No images of family or friends to be found anywhere, actually. The whole space was lacking in comfort, reminding him more of a safe house than a place anyone would choose to inhabit on the daily.
Except he didn't get to ponder these details for long because her lips were on his a moment after she'd locked the door behind them. Teeth scraping and tongues fighting for dominance, neither of them being particularly gentle.
Tim had a mole gracing his neck, just below the jawline, that Jo had been eyeing all night, wondering if it were sensitive. When she put her mouth over the darkened skin and sucked harshly, she got her answer. Tim lost all decorum at the action and nearly dragged her into the bedroom after that.
Nimble fingers shed both their clothes with speed and accuracy. That night, Jo discovered that Deputy U.S. Marshal Tim Gutterson didn't just have the agile hands of a sniper, but the patience of one too.
